


our hands speak

by nfwmb (earthshaker)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - College/University, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rule 63, Some Tenderness Involved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:40:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25340269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthshaker/pseuds/nfwmb
Summary: Here’s how it happens: Hansol and Seokmin settle into rituals like they’ve known each other their whole lives. Rituals that now include Hansol cutting and bleaching her hair because Seokmin has been on the verge of doing something drastic since the semester began. When Hansol finally rinses the bleach out, Seokmin stares back at her orange bob.
Relationships: Chwe Hansol | Vernon/Lee Seokmin | DK
Comments: 10
Kudos: 77
Collections: Enduring Dawn Round 1





	our hands speak

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lacquer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacquer/gifts).



> for em, whom i love so dearly! thank you for encouraging my love for 1) lesbians and 2) seoksol, always and also for combing over this fic alongside riley! thank you to the mods for being so patient with me T_T... doing this for the small intersection of 218bro shippers who are also lesbians!

I can hear your breath tonight, I know how your face

lies upturned, the halflight tracing

your generous, delicate mouth

where grief and laughter sleep together.

_**—Twenty-One Love Poems: XVI,** Adrienne Rich_

“Are you sure about this?” Hansol asks. 

The bass from the song they’re listening to rips through the bathroom—Seokmin is confident it’s a Brockhampton song—Hansol’s music taste is eclectic, but Seokmin’s beginning to familiarize herself with it. The song is alive and in Hansol’s shitty apartment bathroom, Seokmin feels the same.

“Yeah,” Seokmin’s excitement is barely contained, bouncing a little on the seat, catching Hansol’s gummy smile in the mirror she’s holding. 

The shaver buzzes to life and with confidence that comes from hundreds of self-administered haircuts, Hansol takes it to Seokmin’s neat braid. Seokmin gasps when her hair is sheared off with one quick move, suddenly shorter strands tickling the back of her neck. Hansol clicks it off and sets it aside, tongue caught between her teeth as she goes in with scissors, snipping off bits of Seokmin’s hair and neatening it. Every strand that falls over Seokmin’s shoulders takes a metaphorical weight off her.

“What do you think?” Hansol hums. “We don’t have to bleach it today if you don’t want to.”

“No,” Seokmin trips over the word. “I want to.”

Hansol works quickly and quietly, humming along with the music, snapping gloves on, sectioning Seokmin’s hair, combing bleach into them with her fingers. The quiet doesn’t bother them—it’s easy for Seokmin to be with Hansol, _breathe_ with Hansol—with Hansol, there is no need for pretense. There is only giving oneself over and well, Seokmin trusts Hansol with that.

Here’s how it happens: Seokmin is the youngest of two, with an older sister. Her family dotes on her, loves her, cocoons her and if she’s being completely honest, her behaviour merits that. Seokmin can be an airhead. Naive, prone to following her gut instinct more often than not, experiences life through its passions. Picks one thing to dedicate herself to with heart and heart alone, sticking through with it even if it breaks her heart. In all of that, there is something that always feels off, as if Seokmin has been calibrated differently, and it’s most obvious in middle school. Seokmin’s friends all have boyfriends and while she herself gets a fair number of confessions, she turns all of them down and chooses, instead, to braid her friends' hair. It becomes a game of humming appropriately and barely paying any attention when the conversation ultimately shifts to boyfriends. 

Here’s how it happens: Seokmin is a singer, but there’s no way to vocalise the way Kim Mingyu makes her feel in high school. Her falsetto can’t come close to it, still raw and off-pitch more often than not. The aggravation of it though, that comes close—Mingyu gets under Seokmin’s skin in a way that no one else does—enough to turn Seokmin raw. Mingyu becomes a presence in every aspect of her life but the biggest intersection is in the theatre club; Mingyu is a costume designer and Seokmin is always being cast in school productions. This translates into Mingyu’s hands on Seokmin, a language she learns by immersion alone, lingering touches, the wide span of Mingyu’s hands over the narrowest part of Seokmin’s waist, lingering fingertips at the nape of Seokmin’s neck and a firm press at the base of Seokmin’s spine. It’s not until Mingyu’s boobs are in her face that Seokmin realizes; the itch, the aggression, the need to shut Mingyu up coiled around her chest, the way her mind lingers _all the time_ on Mingyu’s touches finally translating into intent and purpose. Seokmin kisses Mingyu right after they get out of the CSAT hall in the girl’s bathroom. Mingyu, to Seokmin’s surprise, kisses back. She spends the winter before college learning how Mingyu likes to be kissed and how to love a woman. It’s scary and overwhelming but painfully _easy_ , like Seokmin was meant to do it all along. They split up when Mingyu goes to Busan for college and Seokmin stays in Yongin, two lines diverging, but it’s amicable, affectionate, Mingyu laughing as she rains kisses across Seokmin’s face at the KTX station. 

Here’s how it happens: Seokmin is gay, and coming to terms with it. Her college has an association for allies she joins and while Mingyu’s gaydar is infinitely _better_ , Seokmin isn’t blind. There are those that hold themselves like mirrors of Seokmin in action, in behavior, a sort of casual, unbridled affection within the group that reminds her of a world she was and is part of, a language shared in quiet action. Others are painfully obvious—Hansol is one of them—her hair is cropped short and a different color every other month, recognizable around campus by the navy of her Doc Martens, spouting theory Seokmin can’t even begin to grasp at like a memorized script. 

Hansol is not the first person to reach out, that would be Jeonghan. Seokmin thinks in another world, or maybe even in this one, she would be in love with Jeonghan. It’s hard to _not_ be in love with Jeonghan, fiercely protective and endlessly patient. Jeonghan is much like a lighthouse; no matter how far Seokmin gets from the harbor, there’s a light to guide her home. What this means is the first time Jeonghan takes her to Itaewon and Seokmin sees a world full of people who finally speak a language she knows, covered in too much glitter, it’s Jeonghan’s hair fluttering on her skin, Jeonghan’s hands that reach out when Seokmin gets pulled out by the wave. Itaewon is also where she talks to Hansol properly, watches with quiet hunger as Hansol licks salts off her fingers and downs tequila. When they start talking, they click together. Conversation flows between Seokmin and Hansol like a fountain, bubbling consistently, never running dry and their friendship quickly evolves from sending each other memes and animal pictures to attending musicals and record diving. Seokmin doesn’t think much about the fact that she’s attached to Hansol at first, until Jeonghan calls Hansol her girlfriend and she feels like she missed a step somewhere. 

“Are we girlfriends?” Seokmin had asked right after midterms, sprawled on the floor of Hansol’s single while watching her work on an assignment. The rug she’s lying on was one they’d thrifted together, a shaggy mass of scratchy wool.

Hansol’s head jerked up, face open, Seokmin reading it: equal parts apprehension and sincerity. “If that’s what you want to be.”

Seokmin had agreed almost immediately and the smile that spread across Hansol’s face could rival the setting sun, bright and infectious, absent of a veneer. Not much changes after—except kissing, so much kissing Seokmin leaves Hansol’s dorm with a tender mouth sometimes—Jeonghan is unsurprised by the development, Mingyu is far too excited for someone Seokmin used to… well they were something. Not girlfriends, but two women who shared in that experience, that solidarity. 

Here’s how it happens: Hansol and Seokmin settle into rituals like they’ve known each other their whole lives. Rituals that now include Hansol cutting and bleaching her hair because Seokmin has been on the verge of doing something drastic since the semester began. When Hansol finally rinses the bleach out, Seokmin stares back at her orange bob.

“It’s so _ugly_ ,” Seokmin guffaws, Hansol laughing with her, her hands running through the edges of Seokmin’s damp hair. 

“It’ll be fine when we color it tomorrow,” Hansol insists. “And I think you look cute.”

Seokmin pinks in delight; Hansol is sincere in everything she says and does, it’s hard to not be affected by the magnitude of attention she turns onto Seokmin at times. Hansol keeps running her hands across the damp skin of Seokmin’s back, exposed by her tank top, with barely concealed intent. The thing about Hansol is her scrutiny can be intense, a dedication to learning Seokmin in and out. When one of Seokmin’s exhales escapes in a low whine because Hansol’s fingers brush against a sensitive spot in her neck, Hansol’s eyes darken, repeating the motion until Seokmin’s knuckles are white around the edges of the sink. 

“You look like a cuter Gritty,” Hansol says out of the blue.

The tension dissipates as fast as it was created, Hansol laughing as Seokmin tries to whip her with the hand towel. In the mirror, a picture of intimacy: straying hands, damp curls, a smile tucked against Seokmin’s neck. Seokmin is a little disappointed—kissing is not sex—she wants Hansol in ways she doesn’t quite have the words for yet. To learn a language is to immerse yourself in it, and Seokmin’s only waist deep in her understanding of Hansol. 

It’s only later at night when her hair is a dried tangle, Seokmin tucked against Hansol in the narrow single, that she finds her voice, easier outside the moment. 

“Hansol-ah,” Seokmin begins, quiet. Between the moonlight and lamplight, Hansol glows, hair a river of molten silver, the wet plush of her mouth an inviting gold. “Can I kiss you?”

Hansol exhales in a rush and Seokmin begins to panic—she’s only ever done this with Mingyu, shy and unsure—outside of that, a handful of girls in Itaewon, mouths tasting like soju and vodka, menthols and orange juice. Hansol is nothing like any of them. She’s confident and assured, knows what she’s going to say before she opens her mouth, as reliable as the rising and setting of the sun. Seokmin, on the other hand, is volatile and insecure at times, runs her mouth given an opportunity, unpredictable like a cyclone, just as likely to sob as she is to laugh.

"Sure," Hansol breathes out.

Hansol leans in before Seokmin can chicken out, mouth soft and searching, gentle against Seokmin's. It feels like kindling catching fire, Seokmin pressing in closer eagerly, sighing into Hansol's mouth. Against her, Hansol laughs, one hand on Seokmin's waist, the two of them lined up chest to thigh. It's comfortable and easy until Hansol sucks on Seokmin's lower lip, Hansol’s nails against her skin and Seokmin moans, shattering the quiet of the night. There’s satisfied sighs when they’re kissing, but this is a new sound, unfamiliar territory. Seokmin pulls away, the back of her neck hot, and Hansol is staring at her with wide eyes, parted mouth, her hands flexing where they were touching Seokmin moments ago.

"I'm sorry, I, ah—my ex used to joke it was all too easy to get me going. I can just go back to my dorm or Seungkwan's or we don’t have to do anything else."

"It's alright," Hansol's voice is surprisingly hoarse. "I want what you want," she adds gently.

It’s enough encouragement for Seokmin, who rarely takes, more prone to giving, exhaling in a shivery whisper. She yelps when Hansol grins and easily drags Seokmin on top of her, her grin wide and easy. Seokmin has imagined the possibilities, but reality is better; Hansol’s beauty has always been otherworldly, bone structure carved by an old master. The newness of the position has Seokmin ducking her head in embarrassment, hiding in the crook of Hansol's neck to avoid the heat in her eyes, the way she looks up at Seokmin like Seokmin has all the answers.

"Didn't think you'd be shy, Seokminnie," Hansol teases, one hand running under Seokmin's shirt.

Seokmin gasps against the skin of Hansol's throat, pressing in closer. It's hard to deny the instinct to rut against Hansol's body but it's not quite the right position, not quite where Seokmin wants Hansol.

"Can we—not like this," Seokmin finally stutters out.

Her breath is punched out of her when Hansol flips them over and it's even more awful to be under Hansol. They have similar builds but where Seokmin is leaner, Hansol is broader, the wisps of her hair curling down her neck, hanging in her eyes, the V of her collar dipping, the electric purple of her sports bra visible. Seokmin is suddenly hungry, frantic with it, wants oh-so-badly to put her mouth all over her girlfriend.

"Kiss me," Seokmin demands, and Hansol surges in, the tide answering to the shore, sucking Seokmin's lower lip between her mouth. When she shifts above Seokmin, she brings a thigh between Seokmin's legs and Seokmin gasps into the kiss, finally giving in to base desire.

The way Hansol stares down at her when Seokmin starts grinding against her thigh has her flushing but the encouraging grip she has on Seokmin’s waist is enough to keep her going, Hansol’s eyes infinitely darker than they were in the bathroom hours ago. 

“You look so pretty, unnie,” Hansol breathes out, eyes trained on the sliver of Seokmin’s abdomen where her tank has ridden up, pushing it even higher and over her tits. 

Seokmin is torn between being happy that she’d skipped a bra and conscious of the way Hansol is watching her. On her best days, Hansol is anchored like a banyan tree, roots to a home, her attention unwavering; the effect is devastating in the context of sex. Hansol is watching her, but also looking through her, taking in her fill by sight alone. Hansol watches Seokmin palm her tits intently, encouraging the grind of Seokmin’s hips against her thigh, the attention making Seokmin wet. Hansol licks into her mouth wet and filthy, hot palms cupping Seokmin’s tits, thumbs circling Seokmin’s nipples, smile growing with every aborted moan Seokmin makes. When Hansol finally pulls away to breathe, she peels her shirt off, encouraging Seokmin to do the same. 

“What do you like?” Hansol asks, patiently rubbing circles into the skin of Seokmin’s stomach even as Seokmin’s hips kick up. 

“Fuck, uh. Oral, or when it’s wet and messy.” 

Having to admit it is worth Hansol’s low groan, Seokmin’s voice cracking on a moan when Hansol palms her tits, Hansol sucking a hickey onto her right breast. Seokmin’s hips cant up every time Hansol’s teeth graze her skin, a high whimper escaping when Hansol goes from sucking a hickey to sucking on a nipple, Seokmin fisting a hand in her hair. Hansol sees through Seokmin fast--picks up on how much she likes teeth--a ring over Seokmin’s left hip as Hansol kisses her way down. Between Hansol’s firm hands and gentle kisses and sharp teeth, it’s a lot to take in; Seokmin is wet in her sleep shorts, electrified with pleasure. 

Hansol presses a wet kiss to the plane of Seokmin's tummy, eyes alight, dragging her tongue along Seokmin's skin until it meets the waistband of her sleep shorts. There's something about the quiet confidence in Hansol's actions that has Seokmin on the edge of desperate, so far from anything Seokmin has experienced before. Mingyu certainly didn’t go down on her with this kind of intensity--it leads Seokmin down a rabbit hole--Hansol puts 200 into everything she does and if she puts 200 into eating pussy as well, Seokmin might pass out when she comes. The idea is enough to have Seokmin dizzy, as it stands.

"You're quieter than I thought you would be," Hansol murmurs, peering up at Seokmin through her lashes. She looks fucking _incredible_ and when Seokmin cants her hips up, Hansol holds her down easily with a laugh.

It's not mean—nothing about Hansol is _mean_ —but it's amused. It's a sound full of confidence and promise.

"Please." Seokmin doesn't know what she's asking for.

“Only if you stop holding yourself back,” Hansol says, holding up her pinky to Seokmin. 

Seokmin laughs, linking her pinkie with Hansol’s and nodding, her laugh turning into a sharp gasp when Hansol cups her pussy through her shorts, Seokmin rutting up into the pressure. If there was a question that she was wet before, it’s answered now; Seokmin is made acutely aware of how soaked she is in her underwear.

Hansol hums like she’s about to say something and Seokmin’s eyes flutter shut, flush spreading further across her skin. Whatever it is she’s about to say, Seokmin is in no way ready for it. Hansol seems to recognize that, pressing another kiss to Seokmin’s stomach before tugging her shorts off her legs instead.

As Seokmin continues to learn, Hansol doesn’t stop teasing which is a problem. She doesn’t peel off Seokmin’s panties with her shorts, lazily licking against the wet spot on them, one hand tight on Seokmin’s thigh to hold her open. Seokmin tries her best but the angle is all wrong to cant against Hansol’s mouth and all she can _really_ do is lay there and take it. Her awareness is condensed to the heat of Hansol’s tongue against her pussy and her jumbled moans of _please_ and _fuck_ and _Hansollie._ Seokmin whines when Hansol pulls away to suck a mark into the inside of her thigh, absentmindedly pressing against the tender spot when she’s done.

“Hansollie, Hansol-ah, please, please eat me out,” Seokmin pants out. She can feel where the sheets stick to her sweat-slick skin and is convinced between how wet she is and Hansol’s saliva, she’s made a mess of the sheets too. 

Hansol’s smile is gentle, her hands are reassuring as she peels off Seokmin’s panties. Hansol’s eyes are even darker if possible, hungry where they’re trained on where Seokmin is wet and flushed, curls plastered against her skin, her folds heavy with how much she wants. Between Hansol being half-dressed and Seokmin being naked, unable to close her legs because Hansol’s between them, Seokmin feels another rush of wetness, wanting everything Hansol is promising with her gaze. 

“Hansollie, please, unnie just wants to feel good.” 

The whimpered unnie does something to Hansol, makes her groan low and hunker down, winding her arms around Seokmin’s thighs, holding her spread open. Seokmin _thinks_ she screams at the first sweep of Hansol’s tongue between her folds, a hand flying down to twist itself in Hansol’s hair and another twisting in the sheets to anchor herself. She jerks up into it as Hansol keeps up a steady rhythm, broad strokes of her tongue and targeted circles around Seokmin’s clit every time she comes up. Hansol keeps at the pace, dipping her tongue into Seokmin’s entrances occasionally. It’s unsatisfying and makes Seokmin hyperaware of how empty she feels, how she wants so badly to clench around Hansol’s fingers. 

“Sol, want more,” Seokmin pants out, hand carding through Hansol’s hair gently, at odds with the way she’s trying to fuck against Hansol’s mouth. 

Hansol pulls away after one last sweep with her tongue, grinning up at Seokmin as she releases one thigh to bring her thumb to Seokmin’s clit, rubbing circles lazily. Seokmin yelps, thighs closing around Hansol’s hand.

“I didn’t think you’d be like this,” Hansol gummy smiles and despite how much Seokmin wants to come, it’s reassuring knowing that this is Hansol, after all, patient and loving in equal measure, never half-asses anything. “You’re so fucking sexy, look at how wet you are for me.”

Seokmin doesn’t get a chance to respond before Hansol spreads her open even further with two fingers, dipping her tongue into Seokmin properly, fucking it in a short burst. It’s even more of a surprise when Hansol pushes two fingers into her, barely any resistance with how wet Seokmin is. She feels like her breath has been punched out, back flat against the mattress, head tipped back. Her hand goes too tight in Hansol’s hair, the groan she makes against Seokmin’s thigh muffled as she bites down on the meat of it. 

Hansol doesn’t immediately get to fucking her, simply moving her fingers in firm circles against the front of Seokmin’s walls; Seokmin gets even wetter with the movement, Hansol’s fingers squelching obscenely. Hansol continues like that, occasionally using her thumb to circle Seokmin’s clit as well, one hand holding her thigh down. It’s ridiculous how fast it pushes Seokmin to the edge, almost sobbing, how badly it makes Seokmin want to ride Hansol’s fingers until she comes once, twice, three times, crying with it.

“I’m so close, _jagi_ ,” Seokmin pants out.

The words act like a match to fuel; Hansol sets a punishing rhythm immediately, fucking Seokmin with purpose. Seokmin feels overwhelmed with it, reaching towards Hansol with her other hand, sighing when Hansol lets go of her thigh to intertwine their fingers, resting on Seokmin’s tummy. Seokmin can’t quite describe it; the touch is both sexy and reassuring. Except Hansol scissors her fingers, dips her tongue between them and Seokmin cries out, squeezes Hansol’s hand in her grip. It’s hard to think about anything else besides the way Hansol fucks her steadily, laving at her clit, the room filled with Seokmin’s whines and the wet sounds of Hansol fingering her.

“I can’t wait to fuck you with my strap,” Hansol says—confesses, really—there’s something aching and honest about how she says it, tonguing at Seokmin’s clit right after. 

It’s enough to make Seokmin come with a low whine, hips undulating against Hansol’s mouth and fingers, Hansol insistently working her through her orgasm. It’s almost overwhelming; Hansol is _intense,_ refusing to let up despite Seokmin feeling like she’s had lightning scour through her. Hansol doesn’t stop at one, however, she works Seokmin through the aftershocks and into another before Seokmin can consciously register it. She coaxes a second orgasm from Seokmin with lips suctioned around Seokmin’s clit and a third finger in Seokmin. Seokmin gasps when her second orgasm slams into her with the weight of a sledgehammer, radiating tenderness throughout her body, Hansol guiding her through it. Hansol pulls away when Seokmin whimpers, smiling wide and the way the light catches the shine of her face has Seokmin hot and bothered again, desire turning over. That’s _her_ on Hansol’s face.

“Did you—,” Seokmin begins. “Can I… I want to do that for you too.”

Hansol crawls up next to her and Seokmin doesn’t fight the urge to close the space between them, overheated where Hansol is cool, licking the taste of herself off Hansol’s cheeks, her chin, kissing her. Hansol’s amused by it, kisses back with enthusiasm.

“Do you not care where my mouth was?” Hansol asks, waggling her eyebrows.

Seokmin is beyond shame at this point. “I know what I do to myself. And I regularly let dogs kiss me. Now can I do the same?”

Hansol hums, still grinning. Her thumb is drawing circles on Seokmin’s skin, comforting in a way that might lull her to sleep. 

“It’s alright, unnie,” Hansol swallows, eyes dragging over Seokmin’s body. “Besides, I kind of wanna fuck you in the morning. Wanna see how pretty you look then too.”

“Yah,” Seokmin’s ears burn, playfully hitting Hansol’s shoulder and grinning when Hansol catches her by the wrist, pressing a kiss against her palm. “I need to recover.”

“Unnie, you’re 23, not 32,” Hansol laughs. “I’m sure you’ll be recovered by tomorrow.” 

“And if I’m not recovered tomorrow?” Seokmin hedges. 

“You’re underestimating how much I want to ride your thigh,” Hansol licks her lips, leaning in close to brush their noses together. 

“Is that a promise?” Seokmin murmurs. 

Hansol nods, kissing her again, licking into Seokmin’s mouth like they have all the time in the world. And in a manner of speaking, they do: Hansol lends her a pair of boxer shorts all while teasing her about the mess she made. When they fall asleep, Hansol is tucked against her chest, Seokmin’s nose to the nape of her neck. Seokmin has all the time in the world to learn Hansol’s language, immerse herself in the surety of Hansol’s smile and hands. 

**Author's Note:**

> comments is to the author what a laser pointer is to cats, but if not, drop by my [cc](https://curiouscat.me/lilting) or [writing twt](https://twitter.com/suninspiendour)(i accept all follow requests) if you’d like to say hi there instead.


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